


Love Is a Stranger

by orphan_account



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, Drinking, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Loneliness, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Prequel, Soul-Searching, Swearing, Trope Bingo Round 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 08:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13543815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: She sweeps into Dom’s life like an unexpected storm, knocking the air right out of her lungs.





	Love Is a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to finally be posting something for the Domlene fandom. 
> 
> This fic occurs pre-canon. We were told on the show that Dom was proposed to right before graduating law school. She wound up bolting, and changed careers, joining the FBI. My story is set in the months leading up to that. This is also me playing around with the idea of Dom and Darlene meeting under better circumstances.
> 
> For the 'Fake Relationship' square on my [trope_bingo](https://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

She sweeps into Dom’s life like an unexpected storm, knocking the air right out of her lungs.

“Get your fucking hands _off_ me, you douchebag.”

The voice sounds harsh and nasal. Dom lifts her pale eyes to see an overzealous guy harassing a girl maybe a year or two younger than herself. He grips her upper arm aggressively, as he attempts to drag her out of the dingy bar.

“Oh my God, let _go_ of me.”

Something twists in Dom’s chest, and her patience evaporates. It’s not cool when people won’t take no for an answer, whatever way she looks at it.

Dom wants to believe instinct makes her intervene, and that somebody else would do the same for her should the roles be reversed. They probably wouldn’t, she acknowledges, because people are inherently disappointing.

“Baby, there you are!” She says, touching the stranger’s shoulder.

Dom feels the girl tense under her touch. Damn, her social game has never been her strong point. She can’t read situations appropriately; always makes herself look awkward and inept. For a moment, she’s convinced she’s made the wrong call.

“See?” The girl shoves the guy away for a final time. “Told you I was waiting for someone.”

“You’re into girls?” His face flushes crimson, and Dom isn’t sure whether it’s from anger or embarrassment. “Jesus Christ.”

The girl smiles then, and Dom truly sees her for the first time. She is like a deer in headlights, her eyes the deepest blue, a mess of kohl smudged around them. Her backcombed hair is wild, with a mind of its own. Even in the dim light, Dom can detect the chestnut shimmer in her brunette locks.

Dom can’t even try to walk away now. She is transfixed by this brash, chaotic stranger, who has awakened something within her she didn’t even know needed to be roused in the first place.

The guy glares at her, and Dom sees his yellowing teeth clench, smells the stale tobacco on his breath.

“You got a problem?” She raises her voice, one hand still on the girl. “Because if you touch her again, then I swear to God, I _will_ hurt you.”

Dom isn’t sure where she’s found this new level of courage, or why she would risk so much for someone she’s only just met – but she likes it. Besides, she can handle herself. She’s _always_ been able to handle herself. People tell her she’s imposing. It isn’t a weakness. Dom is going to make an excellent lawyer; if only being a lawyer was enough for her.

The guy stalks away to the bar, muttering homophobic obscenities under his breath. All words and no action. Dom is almost disappointed.

“Would’ve been cooler if you’d hit him,” says the girl.

Dom finds herself tongue-tied, breath hitching in the back of her throat. “Yeah.” She manages an unconvincing nod.

“Thanks.” The girl leans close to Dom’s ear as she speaks. “You didn’t have to help, but you did.”

“Guys like him make my skin crawl,” she replies.

“Tell me about it.” She twists a long and unruly strand of hair around her finger. “I’m Darlene.”

“Dom. It’s short for Dominique.”

“I figured.” Darlene is still leaning against her. “Put your arm around me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, at least _try_ to make this look convincing. He’s still watching us.”

She glances towards the bar, sees the guy ogling them, as though they’re his prey. “Oh… yeah. Absolutely.”

Dom places a shaking hand around Darlene’s waist. The close contact makes her giddy. She turns her attention back to the liquor glass, swirling its rich amber contents. She knocks it back in one go, and alcohol burns the back of her throat.

“Ew.” Darlene rolls her eyes playfully. “I don’t even know how you can drink that stuff. I hate whiskey.”

Darlene’s hand is on her arm; she never breaks eye contact when they speak. Dom feels an almost nauseating pleasure.

“It’s not whiskey; it’s bourbon.”

“Same thing.”

“No.” Dom shakes her head. “It isn’t.”

She takes the initiative and orders two more bourbons from the bartender. Darlene eyes hers cynically, screwing her face up. It makes her look younger and more childlike. For the first time that night Dom starts to figure her out – she’s someone innocent, someone who’s been hurt before. Dom wishes she could undo whatever it is that caused Darlene’s pain in the first place. Wishes she could take her out, treat her nicely, buy her nice things.

But all of this is make-believe, she reminds herself.

They cross to a nearby table, its plastic seats held together by duct tape. Dom can’t help but notice Darlene’s pale legs as she sits down, wondering why on earth she’s wearing denim hot pants during a Jersey winter like she’s superhuman and immune to the cold. She stares until Darlene meets her gaze. How _awkward_.

Somebody selects _Cocaine Blues_ by Johnny Cash on the jukebox, and Dom smiles wryly as she realizes she knows the lyrics by heart. She’s been frequenting dive bars for weeks now, one after the other. Anything to fill the void she’s pretending isn’t there.

“As long as it gets us drunk, right?” Darlene raises her glass.

“I don’t drink bourbon to get drunk,” Dom replies. “It’s because I want to acquire the taste for it.”

“You’re weird.”

Dom laughs, in spite of herself. For once she doesn’t think about how dorky she sounds, and just enjoys the pleasure of good company. It’s the first time for as long as she can remember that she’s not felt lonely, despite her apparently perfect life.

“And you’re… I don’t even know what you are. I just know that you’re different.”

“That’s one way of describing me.”

They stop and stare at each other, and Dom wants to say something profound but finds she doesn’t have the words. They are pretending, Dom remembers, just pretending. None of this is real, and Darlene wouldn’t be spending the evening with her by choice.

“Okay,” Dom says, clearing her throat, attempting to be serious again. “Swill your drink around, smell it. What do you get? Oak? Vanilla?”

Darlene does as she asks. “Uh… maybe?”

“Now sip it gently. Don’t go too fast. Savor it.”

Darlene sips slowly and scrunches her nose up in disgust. “Tastes like paint thinner.”

They both collapse into laughter. Dom laughs until her chest hurts, and tears form in the corners of her eyes. It makes her feel alive, makes her worries melt away, at least temporarily.

“Can I ask you something?” Darlene says to her, once their amusement dies down.

“Sure.”

“Why are you drinking by yourself in a place like this?”

Dom freezes, trying to choke down the feelings Darlene’s question invokes. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Seconds pass, maybe a minute or two.

“You can talk to me,” Darlene says, her eyes wide. There is no judgment in her voice.

“I have everything.” Dom begins to tremble. “But it isn’t enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a few months out from graduating law school, and I think my partner is going to propose.” The weight of the words hangs heavily, as though verbalizing them makes them more real. “But I feel so fucking unhappy.”

“Then, do something about it.” Darlene covers Dom’s hand with hers. “Before it’s too fucking late.”

Dom swallows hard because she doesn’t want to cry. Darlene has already ripped open her ribcage, exposing her heart to the elements, albeit unwittingly.

“Dom.” Darlene laces their fingers together. “You can still fix this.”

Dom could suffocate under the guilt; but she’s at a fork in the road, a crossroads, and a beautiful girl is telling her to put herself first. There are no answers to be found in the bottom of a liquor glass, no matter how hard she’s searched for them.

Dom wonders if Darlene is the epiphany she’s been looking for.

“Jesus Christ,” Darlene groans, looking away into the distance. “Kiss me already.”

She leans across the table, pulling Dom’s face towards hers. They clash together clumsily, but Darlene’s mouth is commanding, and Dom closes her eyes to drink in the pleasure. Darlene’s lips are so soft and full, sumptuous like a summer strawberry.

They kiss harder. Dom doesn’t want to pull away to breathe. She could die like this, with Darlene sucking the last of the air out of her body.

Nothing has ever felt so right, so natural. Dom isn’t acting anymore. She hasn’t been acting all evening.

“Finally.” Darlene releases her abruptly, collapsing back into a chair. “I thought he was never going to get the message.”

Dom is still drunk with the dizziness Darlene has inflicted on her. She turns, hesitantly, to see a different guy glaring at them, eyes aglow with fury.

“Who’s he?” Dom says, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “That’s not the guy who was harassing you earlier.”

“It’s my ex.” Darlene rolls her eyes. “He’s a douchebag too.”

It takes all Dom’s resolve not to let her disappointment show. It was silly, naive to believe Darlene was kissing her for the hell of it.

_As if._

“I should go. I need to get home,” Dom says, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. As much as she wants to stay, she can’t do this any longer.

“Will you walk me to the subway?” Darlene asks, fluttering her eyelids delicately, as though she knows just how to push Dom’s buttons. “Pretty please?”

“Sure.”  
  
  
  
The night air is crisp, biting, and cruel. It is, after all, the dead of winter. Dom offers Darlene her jacket, just until they get to the subway station. She drapes it over her shoulders casually, and they walk through the sleepy streets. Neon signs shine down, illuminating the ground, and drunk people stumble past them. Dom keeps her eyes peeled because nowhere is truly safe. You can never tell when someone might pull a gun out on you.

Her skin crawls at the idea of being stuck in a courtroom all day. Surely, she could do more with her knowledge of federal laws, firearms and police work.

“You’ve gone quiet on me,” Darlene says, breaking the silence.

“Just thinking.” Dom blinks, feeling the early signs of a migraine press at her temples. Perhaps she needs to give up the bourbon after all.

“Maybe that’s your problem. You overthink things.”

“Maybe,” she whispers. “Or maybe I should’ve got my shit together a lot sooner.”

They walk inside the station, the noise of trains passing each other in the night fills Dom’s ears. She follows Darlene to a platform.

“This is me.” Darlene turns to her, half smiling.

“Right.” Dom looks down at the floor, not sure what she should say.

“Hey,” Darlene says, lifting Dom’s chin up with her hand. “Thanks for tonight.”

Dom shrugs. “Anytime.”

Darlene hands her the jacket, and steps onto the train. Dom watches as the doors close, obscuring her face. She stands there, until the train has passed into a dark tunnel, only its lights visible. Finally, it disappears altogether, and the sound of it fades away into the distance.

Dom pinches herself, briefly wondering if Darlene was a mirage, or just her mind playing cruel tricks on her. It’s not as if she knows anything about the girl, really – who she is, what she does, or what caused the sadness behind her blue eyes.

There’s a new emptiness inside Dom now, and her chest aches with longing. She can still taste Darlene’s lips on hers, and she’s scared of forgetting what they felt like, scared no one will ever kiss her like that again.

_It wasn’t real._

For a while, Dom doesn’t move. She lies on the bench in the near-abandoned subway station, its lights stinging her watery eyes. She’s shivering, she realizes, the cold so relentless it makes her bones ache. There’s the jacket, Darlene’s perfume still lingering on it. Dom pulls it on and slips her hands into the pockets for warmth.

There’s something inside one of them.

Dom retrieves a Budweiser beer mat and turns it over in her fingers. She instantly recognizes it from the bar. There, scrawled in dried out black sharpie, is _Darlene_ , and a phone number.

Dom smiles and smiles until her face aches.

 


End file.
